Against the brink, words bluster, swashbuckle,
teetering, achieve impossible feats
playing an hysterical dimension:
'Ask of me... you will find me a grave man.'*
In agony one winces, chirps and tweets;
while on anaesthetic needs to suckle.
But how to change eye's apple, teach the heart -
a rain-streak down the window in the rain -
and sadness from all memories restart -
resentments recharge batteries from pain.
Such murder cores the centre from a life
and takes the seeds that should delight the years
spiralling raw peel of long smarting strife
before true love forgets her winter tears.
......................
*Mercutio in Act Three, Scene One of Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet', after being stabbed in the armpit..
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
